


MerlinWATGame: Team 5

by EachPeachPearPlum, Eisbaerfussel, Emrys MK (mk_malfoy), foxelot, MerlinWATMod (ViridianJane), Merlocked18



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Art and Fic, Canon Era, M/M, Magic Revealed, but it's not angsty!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisbaerfussel/pseuds/Eisbaerfussel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_malfoy/pseuds/Emrys%20MK, https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxelot/pseuds/foxelot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViridianJane/pseuds/MerlinWATMod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlocked18/pseuds/Merlocked18
Summary: Merlin's magic is revealed, and it's not really as bad as he thought it would be, and Merlin lives in a small, quiet town, seeing everything in black and white - until one day he sees colour.





	1. Art: Eisbaerfussel

**Author's Note:**

> Here is Team 5, all done! Well done and congratulations to all participants, I hope you guys enjoyed playing!
> 
> Again, a reminder as to how this works: each piece, with the exception of the first, was created based on, and only on, the one before it. This allows for some fun twists and turns by the end of the story!


	2. Fic: EmrysMK

“You should have told me,” Arthur groused out petulantly as he stepped away, no doubt sulking. He always did that when he didn’t get his way. It would be somewhat endearing if he were a child—Merlin had always loved how children were so very passionate about what they wanted, even if they were overly dramatic in the process—but it was Arthur, the King of Camelot, who was acting childish, and it did not at all become him at all.

“Yes, you’re right, of course,” Merlin replied nonchalantly as he continued to watch the butterfly he had conjured seconds earlier to show Arthur that he had magic, “but when would have been a good time, Arthur? That first day I came to work for you? What would you have had me say? ‘Oh, by the way, Sire, that man that your father executed the other day, the one who had magic? You should know that I also have magic, but I assure you that I use it only for good?’ Would that have been preferable to where we are today? Or perhaps I should have told you after I saved Gwen’s father’s life. Yes, that would have been better than allowing Gwen to be arrested. If you’ll recall, I did try to tell the truth but you would not listen to what I had to say. So I am sorry that I have broken your trust. I regret that. But I have saved your life _yet again_. Does that not count for anything? Would you have rather me let you die?”

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin. Had you told me early on about your magic I would have been angry and yes, my father would have sentenced you to death had he found out, but do you think that I would have ever let my father know?” At this he stepped in front of Merlin and let his sword drop to the ground with a clang. “Even back then, when I could barely tolerate your insufferable presence, you wove your way into my life and somewhere along the way you became my friend. Do you think I was prepared to give that up? I would have fought my father had he attempted to have you killed.” Arthur looked anywhere but at Merlin. He seemed angry, hurt, and sad. Merlin understood. Arthur’s entire perception of his servant had been turned upside down.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, meaning it. “There was never going to be a good time to tell you, but what happened today between Lancelot and Gwen made me realise I needed to be truthful about Agravaine’s role in all of this, and I couldn’t very well have told you about him without telling you that I had magic.”

“So that wasn’t the Lancelot we knew?” Arthur asked, looking somewhat less upset now.

“No, that was Lancelot’s body, but not his mind. The Lancelot we knew passed through the veil when he sacrificed his life for mine,” Merlin said, finding it upsetting to think about. Lancelot had been his first friend after leaving Will. Losing him had been beyond upsetting, but seeing him again and briefly thinking that his friend was back, only to lose him all over again had been a pain Merlin wasn’t sure he would get over anytime soon.

“I thought he sacrificed himself for me.” Arthur’s eyebrow arched in a very Gaius-like way. “I was the one who was meant to go through the veil.”

“Yes, well, the end result was the same,” Merlin said, deciding it wasn’t worth it to argue a point he wasn’t even sure about. Perhaps Lancelot really had done if for Arthur, but he didn’t think so. “We owe Lancelot our lives.”

“That we do,” Arthur said. “Now do your job, Merlin, and get me out of this armour. I have a dinner with the knights to get to. And, just to be clear, I am not happy about your keeping the truth from me, but I will get over it. But, do not, under any circumstance, use magic on me when dressing or undressing me. If you need to save my life, please feel free to use all the magic you have, but when we are in my rooms, magic is off limits unless my life is in danger, understood?”

“Yes, Sire,” was Merlin’s prompt reply, only just managing to keep the chuckle to himself as Arthur’s clothing floated through the air towards him. Thankfully, Arthur couldn’t see it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”


	3. Art: Nezumon




	4. Fic: EachPeachPearPlum

It’s not anything special, the day he first catches Arthur looking at him. A distinctly average Tuesday, no different from any other; Merlin spends much of the afternoon sat in a corner in Arthur’s room, trying to hammer a dent out of Arthur’s breastplate. It’s a thankless task, really, all that work just so that Arthur can go back out there tomorrow and get all banged up again, and after an exhausting few days helping prepare the citadel for a host of illustrious visitors and the anxiety of watching Arthur joust this afternoon, Merlin really can’t be bothered with it.

It’s an error of judgement, a lapse in concentration, an idiotic lack of observation, and when Merlin looks up from the magically undented breastplate, Arthur is in the doorway looking back at him.

Time seems to stand still, and all Merlin can do is stare up at him, frozen and terrified, _waiting_.

It’s Arthur’s move, whether he decides to shout for the guards or not. Whether he has Merlin dragged off to a cell to await a perfunctory trial and summary execution, or if he drops the pretence and just kills him now. Whether he demands an explanation first, makes an effort to understand, to accept, or if Uther’s influence outweighs their friendship. It’s all Arthur’s choice; Merlin owes him that much, after lying to him for so long.

“Aren’t you done with that yet, Merlin?” Arthur says, striding the rest of the way into his room and flinging himself into a chair as dramatically as he ever does. He reaches out, dragging his as yet untouched lunch platter across the table, and proceeds to pick at the bread, cheese and meats Merlin put together for him hours ago.

Merlin continues staring, his mind more blank than it has ever been in his life. Arthur saw, he must have seen, and yet he’s just sat there eating like absolutely nothing out of the ordinary is going on. He’s acting like it’s nothing, like Merlin hasn’t just used magic in front of him, and–

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, his head tipped inquisitively to the side, and the calm in his voice is perhaps even more alarming than any of the other possibilities are. “Are you actually repairing my armour, or do you just intend to sit there fondling it all afternoon?”

Merlin blinks, finally, and swallows, trying to do something about the dryness of his mouth. “I was…” he manages, then realises there’s nowhere good for that sentence to go; either Arthur saw his careless act of magic and is ignoring it for some unfathomable reason or – by some truly astonishing miracle – he didn’t notice what was happening, but whichever it is Merlin isn’t going to say anything about it.

“Well?”

He swallows again, forcing the brightest, stupidest smile he can possibly manage onto his face. “It is very nice armour?” he offers, then follows it up with a desperate escape attempt. “I’m done, anyway. I’ll take it back down to the armoury, and then I think Gaius wanted my help with something.”

Arthur smirks at him, the expression of superiority and entitlement that Merlin has never before found intimidating, even when intimidated is what Arthur wants him to be. Today, though, it has him in very effective fear for his life, once more waiting in petrified anxiety for Arthur’s reaction.

Eventually, the prince nods. “Run along, then,” he says, still smirking. “I’ll want a bath before the feast tonight, so make sure you’re back in good time.”

Merlin smiles again, scooping up the various pieces of armour, and then flees.

X

He spends the rest of the afternoon in a state of absolute terror, certain that at any minute a battalion of guards will break down the door to Gaius’ workroom and drag him away in cold iron cuffs; he twitches each time there’s a noise in the hallway, breaks three vials (thankfully before he has a chance to put anything in them), drops so many different ingredients he’s lost count, and fails miserably to provide a relevant answer to anything Gaius says to him.

“For goodness sake, Merlin,” Gaius says, after the five millionth incorrectly answered question. His voice is sharp enough to slice through the fog of Merlin’s fear, making him blink until the table before him comes into focus, revealing the mangled mess he’s managed to turn a pile of mint leaves into, too badly pulped to be of any use.

“Oh,” he manages after a moment. “Sorry, Gaius. I’ll start another batch.”

He scrapes the mulch aside, retrieves a fresh stem of leaves, and picks up the knife again, only then registering the faint trembling of his fingers.

Merlin puts the knife back down.

“Actually,” he says, and his voice is trembling too, “I don’t think I’m going to be too much use to you right now. Do you mind if I go up to my room?”

Gaius looks at him a moment, squinting a little, then walks around the table to examine Merlin from a little closer. “You look pale,” he says, pressing the back of his hand to Merlin’s forehead and leaving it there for a few seconds. “You’re a little cool, too. Are you feeling okay?”

“I just need to lie down for a bit,” Merlin answers, lying as best he can in the hope that it will lessen Gaius’ worry.

Perhaps he should tell Gaius the truth, that he thinks he got caught today. Merlin owes him that much, after Gaius has taken him in, protected him and taught him, after all he’s risked in doing so. Honesty is the very least that Gaius deserves from him, though it will do nothing to make him worry less.

Honesty is also the worst thing Merlin can give him right now, because Gaius needs to be surprised if someone comes for Merlin: hopefully, they’ll mistake shock at Merlin being arrested for shock at Merlin being a sorcerer, meaning Merlin won’t have to do anything drastic in order to keep him safe.

“Are you sure you’re well, Merlin?” Gaius asks, and the concern on his face makes it plain how unsuccessful Merlin’s reassuring dishonesty is.

“I’ll live,” Merlin answers, and hopes desperately that that won’t end up being a lie too.

X

Up in his room, Merlin gathers his meagre collection of belongings, adding everything to a pile on his bed. It’s a small pile, barely anything when he compares it to how much Arthur has him lug around on hunting trips, but it’s an awful lot more than he brought to Camelot, particularly when he includes his spellbook and the faerie staff.

He folds his clothes neatly enough to make his mother proud, packing them and everything but the staff into the well-aged leather satchel he usually uses to gather herbs. Then there’s nothing to do but sit at the end of his bed, staff propped up to his right and bag on the floor to his left, ready to snatch up and disappear with as soon as someone comes for him.

Nothing to do but wait.

X

No one comes.

X

After that first afternoon of brain-freezing terror, it gets a little easier.

He's still afraid, still tiptoeing his way around Arthur, Uther, and just about everyone else, but he's starting to feel a little silly about it. If Arthur was going to turn him in, surely he would have done so immediately, and if he was going to send him away or kill him himself, it doesn't make sense for him to have left it so long.

So, Merlin has to concede the following evening, maybe Arthur doesn’t want him dead, but that doesn’t explain why he’s not said anything.

He lies awake at night wondering and worrying about it, trying to think up reasons for Arthur to not even acknowledge having caught him using magic. At his most optimistic – when Arthur brought back the flower after Merlin drank poison, when helped them get Mordred out of Camelot, when he followed Merlin to Ealdor, every time he’s stood up to his father or taken Merlin at his word or done something so well-intentioned it made Merlin’s heart twist in his chest – Merlin has thought that Arthur might settle for yelling or ignoring him or putting him in the stocks for a year. He’s thought Arthur might hate him, rage at him, cast Merlin from his sight and his life. Sometimes, he’s even hoped that Arthur’s anger would only be a temporary state, that he might eventually be able to get past the secrecy and the sorcery, could one day even forgive him.

That Arthur could ignore it completely has never crossed Merlin's mind, and the fact that that’s what Arthur is doing has Merlin feeling way beyond confused.

X

The fear fades, and by the end of the week Merlin just wants the whole thing resolved. He wants to know what Arthur’s thinking, what he’s feeling, where they go now that Arthur knows about him. He wants to know how this changes things between them – because it has to, doesn’t it, has to change the balance of power and the way Arthur seems to find him useless sometimes, has to make them equals – and Arthur is telling him absolutely nothing.

And then his magic decides it’s going to force the issue.

X

The magic – or whichever ridiculous part of his subconscious mind controls it – at least has the good sense to wait until they’re alone before doing anything. Not that this makes Merlin’s life any easier, but at least it doesn’t increase the fear that he’s about to become intimately acquainted with a very sharp blade, and he can mostly pretend nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

Arthur, it seems, is pretending the same thing.

It’s nothing particularly overt, either, never something an unwitting observer would be able to immediately identify as sorcery. Just little things, subtle things: the candles wait a minute or two after Arthur enters his room in an evening before flaring a little brighter; Arthur complains that his bathwater is getting a little chilly, and it returns to steaming seconds before Merlin tops it up from the pan warming by the fire.

No comment from Arthur.

Socks leap from the wardrobe and into Merlin’s waiting arms. Arthur’s armour gleams bright enough to leave his opponents squinting, even on the third day of the tournament when the sun spends the whole morning sulking behind thick clouds.

“I’m a sorcerer,” Merlin rehearses of an evening, careful to keep his voice quiet enough that Gaius won’t overhear. “I know you know, Arthur, so I think we should really discuss this.”

_Tomorrow_ , he promises himself before he falls asleep. _I’ll confront him in the morning_.

In the morning, he chickens out.

Meals eaten in Arthur’s chambers never go cold. Arthur’s clothing is always perfectly pressed by the time Merlin hands it over, no matter how crumpled it was when he pulls it from the wardrobe. A pleasant breeze blows through Arthur’s windows no matter how still the air outside is, and by the time the fortnight long tournament is drawing to a close Merlin is wondering what the hell he would have to do to get a reaction from Arthur.

X

The final day of the tournament is once again grey and dreary, heavy with a fine drizzle that seems to hang in the air rather than fall to the ground, but Arthur doesn’t seem at all bothered. He’s on quite a winning streak, one that doesn’t seem likely to end today, and his enthusiasm is both endearing and infectious; Merlin finds himself grinning like a fool as he helps Arthur into his armour, his magic fizzing excitedly under his skin.

“Careful,” Arthur says, sounding a little exasperated and yet also fond enough that Merlin pauses, glancing up from lacing Arthur’s left vambrace.

“Mmm?” he answers, admittedly rather distracted by trying to make sure all of Arthur’s most vulnerable areas are well protected for the coming bout.

Arthur sighs, his hand coming up to Merlin’s shoulder, fingertips brushing gently against his neck. It’s an oddly intimate gesture, and whilst Merlin doesn’t necessarily object, he is a bit surprised by it.

“Merlin,” murmurs the prince, and Merlin follows his gaze to see the butterfly Arthur is brushing away from him.

It’s rather large, beautifully dressed in shades of blue and green, and Merlin might not be an expert lepidopterist but the faint trail of cerulean dust it leaves in its wake seems to suggest it’s not entirely natural.

“Oh,” he says, arranging his face into what he hopes is a normal expression and using his grip on Arthur’s vambrace to steer his arm far enough down that Merlin can see to finish tying the laces without going cross eyed. “That’s pretty, isn’t it?”

There’s silence, rather longer than usually occurs in their conversations, so long that Merlin wonders if, maybe, this is it and then, “Yes,” Arthur says, smiling audibly. “Yes, Merlin, I suppose it is.”

Merlin smiles back at him, and pulls tight the final knot.

“You’re done,” he announces. “Good luck, sire.”

“I hardly need luck, do I, Merlin?” Arthur asks, accepting his helm when Merlin offers it to him. “I’ve got you to cheer me on, after all.”

“Always,” Merlin promises, beaming at him.

X

One day, Arthur is going to say something about it.

Until then, Merlin can wait.


	5. Art: Merlocked18




	6. Fic: Foxelot

For the most part, Merlin’s life is a boring mess of colorless monotony. He’s lived in the same small town since he was born, has known the same people his whole life. Once he hits fifteen, he starts to ache for more, wanting to get out of his sleepy town, wanting to try and add color to his life. He wants to travel until the gray and black and white are gone. But he knows that he can’t. Not right now at least. Right now he has to finish school and take care of his mother. He has to live in the colorless world a little while longer, until he can move on to bigger and brighter places. 

Once he’s eighteen and graduated, Merlin books his first ticket out of there. He packs up his bags, saves every bit of money he can get his hands on through birthdays and odd jobs for years. He’s all set to leave when the plan completely falls apart. His mother takes ill and has to stay in the hospital. When she’s finally released, she can’t be alone. She’s too weak, too fragile, too ill. Merlin has to stay put and take care of her, refuses to listen when she insists that he live his life, that she’ll figure something else out. She knows how antsy he’s getting in their little town. She wants her only son to discover all the colors the world has to offer like she once did. It’s all she’s ever wanted for him. Her pleas fall on deaf ears as Merlin unpacks his things and puts his bags away again, as the date for his departure comes and goes without him making a move.

This carries on for another five years. It’s more time than the doctors originally gave Hunith, and every day Merlin is grateful for it. The wanderlust is still there, the ache to venture out into the world, but Merlin also learns to value the time he continues to get with his mother, never knowing if that day will be the last he gets. He plans to soak up every second he can get. The colors can wait. He’s still young and healthy; there’s time to chase the rainbow later.

His world comes to a screeching halt one day in late November as he’s walking to the shops to get more milk.

Everything starts out normally enough, in their usual shades of gray and black and white, but as Merlin rounds a corner he freezes. The normally dull door on the small grocery store he frequents isn’t its usual shade of gray. Today it’s a startling blue.

It takes a few moments for Merlin to get himself moving again, unable to tear his eyes away from the sudden burst of color. When he finally reaches the door, his fingertips trace over it carefully, as if him touching it will sap the color back out again. He’s still admiring it, doing his best to stay out of the way of other patrons, when his brain finally catches up to what his eyes are seeing. It’s blue. There’s color. He knows what color means. The person he’s always ached to find has come to his little town, touched things that Merlin has known his entire life.

In one quick motion, Merlin whips the door of the shop open, eyes landing on the kaleidoscope of colors that wait for him inside. The milk is forgotten now. All Merlin wants to do is follow the colors, to find the person responsible for making them. His feet move without him thinking about, hand continuing to trail everything that’s no longer dull. His fingers run over a box of cereal, a jar of spaghetti sauce, the bright yellow of a lemon and the the dusty brown of a potato. No one looks at him oddly. Everyone understands what’s going on; they’ve all been a witness to it at least once in their lives. Many of them have lived it.

After spending an almost unnecessary amount of time staring at a bouquet of flowers, Merlin jolts out of his reverie. He needs to get back to his mother, needs to tell her about the things he’s seen. Already he knows that it will only increase her trying to push him to live his life, but he also knows there’s no way he’ll be able to keep it to himself around her. Finally purchasing the milk he ventured out for is a speedy process and Merlin’s sure he’s never walked back home so quickly in his life. The path home is uninteresting compared to the scene behind him, but his mother awaits.

The contrast of the ever-grey door to his home is a little jolting after the bright blue of the shop’s door. There’s a tug in Merlin’s chest as he pushes it open, a tug to go the other way, to go back to the bright vibrancy he’s abandoned for the time being. His mother is waiting in her chair as always, too tired to wander much. Merlin ducks down to kiss her cheek, unable to stop the wide grin he’d had the whole way home from surfacing again. The house he grew up in might be dull, but he has a lead now, a path to painting it in all the colors it holds.

Although he never had any hope of hiding this from his mother, never wanted to, the speed that she notices the shift in his demeanor almost startles Merlin. “Did something exciting happen in town?” she asks as she eyes his grin, eyes as bright as always even when the rest of her was drooping.

Biting his lip, trying to control himself even just a little, Merlin replies, “The shop has a blue door.”

Six simple words and Hunith is on her feet with a speed Merlin hasn’t seen in his mother in many years, her arms wrapping around her son tightly. “And did this blue door lead somewhere else?”

Merlin returns the hug, knows she won’t let go until he has, even if he’s about to disappoint her with his answer. “I didn’t follow the colors,” he says softly, face in her shoulder. “I had to get back to you.”

The sigh his mother gives is quiet, but Merlin hears it clearly. “Tomorrow then,” she bargains with him, already knowing she won’t convince him to go out again that day. “You’ll just have to go out and do it tomorrow.”

For years Merlin has denied his mother’s request to leave and go hunt down the rainbow, but now that he’s seen it with his own eyes there’s a heavy tugging in his chest to give in to her demands. “Tomorrow,” he agrees and hates himself a little for it. He’s supposed to take care of his mother, not go jaunting off into town in chase of something that he can’t even guarantee is still there. But his mother’s answering smile might just make it worth it.

* * *

 

The next day comes quickly. Merlin gets up and gets to work with his normal daily routine, making sure his mother has all she needs before taking care of himself. It’s nearly eleven when Hunith finally has enough of her son tottering around the house and finally sends him away to town. As he puts on his shoes and walks out the door, Merlin tries his best to think of all the reasons he should stay. Some of the shock has worn off overnight and left a pit of anxiety in his gut instead. 

As he nears the shop where he first noticed the color, Merlin sees that there’s more color now. Whoever this person was, they were obviously still around. If he had to wager a guess, Merlin would say it was only because the whole of the town would be lit up in colors and not because it was a particularly interesting place to visit.

Eyes trained on his surroundings, Merlin treks through the streets he could walk with his eyes closed, following the trail that’s been left for him. Sometimes it veers in multiple directions, the person responsible likely running their hand absently across the brick of the buildings as they explored, leaving Merlin guessing which path is the right one.

Eventually all of the paths converge on the park in the middle of town. The sight that greets Merlin as he turns the last corner to it leaves him breathless. The parts of town that have been touched were mesmerizing, but it’s nothing compared to the lush greenery spanned out in front of him now, dotted with bright pinks and purples and blues from flowers. A butterfly flutters near his nose, and Merlin can’t look away. He’d thought them interesting before, but now... now they are absolutely captivating. His hand moves up of its own accord and almost like magic the butterfly lands on his finger.

Merlin could spend the rest of his day just studying the patterns and colors on the butterfly’s wings but the tug in his chest is more incessant than ever now. He’s just moved his hand to encourage the butterfly to continue its flight when he hears a sharp intake of breath just feet ahead of him. Instinctively his eyes move to the sound, trying to find the source.

What he sees leaves Merlin breathless.

Although the town had been splashed with different colors, the people Merlin had passed on the street had looked the same as always, untouched by the painter of his soul. The man standing before him, though, is drenched in color from head to toe, and Merlin knows. He knows it in the way the tug finally settles, in the way the anxiety lifts from his stomach, in the way that the world suddenly feels more right than it ever had. This is his person, his soul.

“I’m Merlin,” he offers once he can find his voice again.


	7. Team 5

Again a big thank you to all of the member of Team 5! In order, the members are:

 

1\. [Eisbaerfussel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisbaerfussel)

2\. [EmrysMK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_malfoy/pseuds/Emrys%20MK/works?fandom_id=232768)

3\. Nezumon

4\. [EachPeachPearPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum)

5\. [Merlocked18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlocked18/pseuds/Merlocked18)

6\. [Foxelot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxelot/pseuds/foxelot/works?fandom_id=232768)

 

Thank you for reading, and please keep an eye out for more MerlinWATGame teams!


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